


I want somebody to want

by Kawaii



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (and a lot of it), A vague hint of Jon previously being in The Mechanisms and Martin previously being a fan, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Brief mentions of bad body image/dysphoria, Brief mentions of worms, Comfort No Hurt, Just for Flavor(TM), M/M, Pining, Tea, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Trans Martin is stated outright and autistic Jon is pretty blatantly stated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaii/pseuds/Kawaii
Summary: Jon's office is freezing cold and Martin accidentally discovers why, all without a proper pair of pants on
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 93
Kudos: 541





	1. I gave my time to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write about tea and project my favorite comfort object onto Jon, so.... I did. And wrote this entire fic.

The first thing Martin noticed during his introductory meeting with his new boss was how gorgeous he was in a strangely familiar way. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but something about his silky smooth salt and pepper hair was intoxicating as he casually flipped a stray lock back behind his shoulder. His warm brown eyes were constantly in motion as if he was running calculations in midair, framed by thin wire-rimmed glasses perched above his high cheekbones. All of this matched his thin, bird-boned stature perfectly, unlike his own curvy (lumpy, on particularly bad days) body.

It was only when those warm eyes locked onto his own that Martin realised he’d been staring and waxing poetic for much longer than was reasonable for meeting his new boss. Whoops.

“Right. So in case you haven’t already been told, I’m Jonathan Sims, the new Head Archivist. As I am sure you noticed when you arrived, we will have plenty of work to do… The previous Archivist, _Gertrude_ , seemed to not be a fan of organisational systems. We will be starting with digitisation of statements and following a Dewey decimal system, but as we start to get a sense of what we’re working with we will be developing our own classification system to start organising the mess that was left behind. Any questions?”

Jon’s torrent of information, coupled with the strange sense of déjà vu he felt when looking at him, brought a seemingly endless number of questions. But the classification stuff should probably be self-explanatory with his supposed credentials, and he was sure he would remember someone so… Unique.

The second thing Martin noticed, only as he started speaking, was just how freezing cold the room was.

“Sorry, but isn’t your office a bit cold?” Martin blurted out.

At this, Jon’s eyes stopped moving and focused on Martin. His eyes seemed to pin him under his gaze, and it was more than a little intimidating.

“I suppose it is. Anything else I can help you with Mr. Blackwood?” 

“Ah- Martin’s fine.”

There was another beat of silence as Jon’s eyes flitted away to stare at an empty patch of wall.

“Jon,” he said plainly.

“Pardon?”

“Jon’s fine,” he repeated as his hands ghosted back towards his keyboard, lithe fingers brushing over the keys.

“Oh, got it! Thank you Jonath- Sorry, Jon.”

Martin may not have gone to Oxford, but he had enough common sense to know when a conversation has ended. With that, he got up, politely pushed his chair in, and enjoyed the calming embrace of warm air as he exited the office. _Jon’s_ office.

Once everyone had settled into the swing of things in the Archives, it became an easy rhythm between them all. Well, almost. Sasha was an incredible researcher that could trawl through databases with ease, Tim was charming enough to get information from anyone, and Jon seemed like he’d been born for this. Martin though, he was still out of sorts. He was catching on quickly, but it always seemed like he’d get turned around the second he started thinking he finally understood.

Statements were always misfiled, follow up research was always either not thorough enough or the wrong direction, it went on and on. But Martin had briefly done a stint as a barista before they ““scaled back his hours,”” and he knew he made a decent cup of tea. So he made tea.

It was a dreary day in London as rain drizzled down. It was like just about every other day in London, but Martin’s umbrella had broken the week before and he hadn’t quite had the money to replace it. When he finally made it through the Archive’s doors he was soaked enough for the chill to have entered his bones. He quickly changed into the spare sweater he kept in his desk, a bright yellow thing that he'd picked up in some charity shop a few years back that he was never quite a fan of, but even that couldn’t get rid of the chill. 

He sneaked a look over at the tiny kitchenette the Archives shared, which was currently sitting empty. On a whim he glanced back over at his coworkers. Sasha was engrossed in her work like always, idly brushing the tip of her ponytail across her lips as she scanned whatever database she had open, while Tim had his feet kicked up on his desk as he tilted his head up towards the ceiling, holding his latest statement to follow up on above his face. Martin nodded resolutely to himself, then got up to put the kettle on.

Fifteen minutes later he slid his coworkers each their usual teas, with Sasha’s favourite Söder tea set carefully in front of her computer and a chai tea with way too much cream and sugar placed into Tim’s eager hands. That left him with two identical plain earl grey teas, one for himself and one for Jon. Martin set his own (in his favorite mug, of course) on his own desk, then steeled himself for approaching Jon’s office.

It wasn’t that he was afraid of Jon, he could never be afraid of the tiny man he so adored that just happened to be his boss. No, it was the ever present chill of his office that gave him pause. He was already so cold after his commute, and he knew the icy cold that would greet him the second he entered would only contribute to the aching chill he felt in his bones.

Martin paused in front of the door, his mind turning over itself like a child poking at a loose tooth. Maybe Jon would be recording a statement and he could just leave his gift in front of his door for when he finished. But he didn’t sound like he was recording a statement, so Martin knocked lightly on his door. 

“Come in,” Jon called out almost immediately.

Martin had half a mind to curse, but he held steadfast and swung the door open.

To his credit, Jon had definitely become less prickly after he grew accustomed to Martin bringing him tea. In the beginning he would grill Martin mercilessly or snap at him for interrupting his train of thought, but today he simply nodded in acknowledgement of his presence and motioned for him to shut the door behind him.

Despite the small warmth that simmered within him whenever he was in Jon’s presence, the chill of the room quickly cut into him. Martin didn’t understand how Jon could stand to work like this, especially as slight as he was. Then again, maybe that’s what the tea was for. 

“Thank you Martin. Do you have any more information on case #0071304?”

“Oh!” Martin exclaimed, quickly setting Jon’s tea down, “The Hill Top Road case, yeah? I wasn’t able to find the exact date that the old place was built, but I found some records of its ownership from the late 1800s to the present, I can get those to you ASAP. I think I found another report that might be linked to it though, I figured I might as follow up on to see if there’s anything else there.”

Martin fidgeted under Jon’s gaze and under the icy cold atmosphere of the room, hoping that would be enough for his impromptu report. Jon finally nodded his approval after what seemed like a lifetime, or at least as close to approval as Martin could get.

“Satisfactory. See if Tim can organise an interview with Mrs. Kasuma to see if she has any further information.”

A moment of silence, as if Jon was considering something. 

“Please.”

Hoping the conversation was over and that he could finally escape to his much warmer desk, Martin quickly nodded in agreement and made his exit.

He took a moment to sit at his desk and sip his tea, basking in its warmth and subtle flavour as it curled into his stomach in a comforting heat. Once he felt less like he was about to freeze to death, he leaned over into Tim’s space.

“Tiiiim, Jon wants you to follow up with that nurse.”

“Ugh, the one from that Hill House case? I don’t see how she could have anything else to tell us, and I don’t think Jon appreciates that these little chit chat coffee dates have started adding up!”  
  
“Oh no,” Sasha chimed in with a grin as she glanced over from her own desk, “You have to flirt with people on the clock instead of doing paperwork in this stuffy old office, that must be awful for you.”

She then looked over at Martin, and furrowed her brows at whatever she saw in him.

“Martin, you look just about blue! Talking to Jon can’t have been _that_ bad.”

The tips of Martin’s ears flushed red at the reminder of Jon’s constant chastising him for subpar work, and he stammered for a few seconds before managing to string his words together.

“No, no, Jon was actually halfway decent today! It’s just, ah, his office is always so cold. You’d think with the money Elias makes, they could afford to put a thermostat in Jon’s office or something.”

If anything, this only seemed to further perplex Sasha.

“Martin, every room in the Archives has its own thermostat for temperature control. It’s key for an adequate document storage environment, it can’t be too warm or too humid. However, there’s no reason for it to be that cold.”

“Maybe he purposefully keeps his office just as frigid as he is!” Tim offered.

Sasha and Martin both turned to give Tim a deadpan stare as Tim performed his own *badumtss* on an air drum set. 

“I guess you’re right Sasha, I think it just got me because it’s already so chilly out. No worries though, I’ve got my tea to warm me right on up!” Martin pointedly ignored Tim’s pout and held up his still steaming mug as proof.

“Good idea Martin! Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold,” Sasha responded.

Martin took a sip of his heavenly tea as Tim gathered up a copy of the Hill Top Road and his cellphone. 

“No one in this office is any fun, let's see if Nurse Kasuma has a better sense of humour than you two,” Tim joked as he exits to one of the countless empty hallways to make some phone calls. 


	2. I'm busting at the seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English teachers always told me to "write what you know," so I wrote a love letter to my very own ratty jacket

Much later, after Jane Prentiss had turned his life on its head and left him with even less humor, Martin woke up from an unpleasant nightmare about squirming masses. He found himself lying on an uncomfortable cot in one of the Magnus Institute’s many storage closets. His phone told him it’s 3 A.M., and he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep anytime soon, so he tiredly pushed his covers off and located one of his softer sweaters.

He had yet to actually run into Jon whenever he was staying late, but Martin wasn’t going to put on a binder if he was (hopefully) going back to sleep. He hadn’t quite found the right time to come out to any of his coworkers, so… A sweater it was.

The nightmare had still left him flushed and sweaty though, and he had never actually seen Jon while wandering the Archives this late, so he elected to leave his sleep shorts be and softly padded through the Archives towards the kettle. 

The first couple nights here had been eerie with the endless silence and the stillness of empty desks, but he had quickly grown accustomed to it. What he wasn’t accustomed to was Jon’s office door being just barely cracked open with light still pouring out of it. 

It was 3 A.M., there was no way Jon could really still be at work. The man was dedicated, sure, but he still had to sleep at some point. 

Still half-asleep, Martin pushed the door open and pawed for the light switch he knew was about a foot off from the door frame. Maybe the Institute could even put the few cents in electricity he was saving them towards his pay cheque. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for Jonathan Sims to be crouched gargoyle-style on his chair and wearing what appeared to be the world's largest (and rattiest) corduroy jacket, which he’d chosen to wrap tightly around himself, and with his hair in a haphazard bun atop his head.

Jon and Martin both froze in place, staring at each other in hopes that this would resolve itself as a strange dream. After a few seconds Martin quickly realised that this was in fact reality, and broke the palpable silence between them.

“I’m so sorry, I just- I thought-” Martin stammered out, his face flushing a bright red from his nose to the tips of his ears.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Jon responded in disbelief, and then immediately tumbled over as he tried to get down from his perched position and fell. It was as if whatever spell Martin was under had broken, and he quickly scurried back towards his cot. He could live without a cup of tea, but he definitely didn’t want to address whatever just happened. 

He forgot to account for just how paranoid Jon could be.

“Martin! Martin!” Jon called out.

In a matter of seconds Jon was running after him, his huge brown jacket almost billowing behind him like an especially threadbare cape. Now that he was standing, Martin noted that he seemed to be wearing a large t-shirt with a pair of equally oversized joggers, which were tied tight around his slender waist. His bun bobbed with every stride, and it would be almost comical if it weren’t for the fact that he had just intruded on his boss at 3 A.M. without any proper pants on. 

“Where are they?”

“I’m sorry, where are who?” Martin responded, confused as to what Jon could possibly be talking about.

“The worms, Martin. They must be back, right?”

Jon scanned their surroundings anxiously, as if a small grey worm might approach at any moment.

Martin buried his face in his hands, contemplating finding a new job as soon as it was a reasonable hour.

“No Jon, Prentiss is definitely dead, I just… I couldn’t sleep, so I wanted to make some tea. I figured you had left the light on considering that it’s-” Martin checked the phone he was still clutching in his hand, “It’s almost 3:30 in the morning. What are you still doing here? And what are you  _ wearing _ ?”

Jon slumped with the realization that there was no immediate danger, and Martin mulled over just how small Jon really was as the jacket hung off of him. 

“Why don’t you put that kettle on, I’m sure we could both use some tea,” Jon said tiredly.

Martin dutifully put the kettle on, then quickly scurried off when Jon went back into his office for something. This was already a weird enough encounter, he at least wanted to put on some proper pyjama pants before whatever conversation awaited him. 

Soon enough, they were sitting across from each other at the rickety old folding table in the kitchenette, each clutching their own cup of earl grey. Jon had put his hair back up in a much neater bun, and his jacket sat crumpled up in his lap. His other hand was fisted into it as he stared into his mug, as if the curls of steam were spelling out some answers for this strange conversation.

Martin was tired and hopeful that he could still get a few hours more of sleep before Tim and Sasha returned to the Archives, so he figured he might as well remind Jon why they were sitting here at 4 A.M.

“So… I currently live here, but I’m still not quite sure I follow why  _ you _ were here.”

Jon ducked his head down, hiding his gaze entirely in his untouched tea. If Martin hadn’t known the man better, he’d assume he was nervous. But no, Jon was never nervous, he was always so sure of himself in a way that almost came off as presumptuous, so it must have been something else.

“You aren’t the only person here with some lingering concerns about Prentiss’s possible return. If I’m not sleeping, I might as well attempt to put a dent in the insurmountable mess that is the state that Gertrude left the Archives in.”

With that off his chest, Jon finally took a sip of his tea. If his shoulders just barely hiked up as if preparing himself for judgement, Martin chose not to address it.

“I mean I guess that makes sense, but when do you sleep? And where for that matter?”

“On the couch in my office, occasionally, and I take a few naps here and there,” Jon replied.

Martin couldn’t help but think about Jon, wrapped up in his coat like a blanket, softly curled up on the ratty old couch that he was sure has been there since the Institute was built. Did he snore? Did his face, usually tight with tension, relax as he peacefully slumbered?

No, he couldn’t let himself get distracted right now, especially not with thoughts as dangerous as that. He shook his head as if to clear it, then pressed forward.

“And the, uh, jacket?”

Jon didn’t immediately respond to the question, pausing to take another sip of his tea and then glance over at the wall next to Martin. It was a stark contrast from their usual interactions, where it felt like Jon’s gaze pierced through him and pinned him to the wall. He fidgeted with the jacket as if he wished he was still wearing it, letting Martin spot what looked to be flannel lining.

“It’s an old gift. It’s mostly sentimental, but sometimes when I’m handling a particularly difficult case it’s helpful in keeping me focused.” 

Martin glanced down at it, and noticed just how threadbare it was. It looked like it could have used a wash overall, but the collar and cuffs especially seemed worn down, where the rich chocolate-brown corduroy thinned out to a beige fabric underneath after what must have been years of gentle friction, fingers brushing over the same places over and over again until the fabric tattered and frayed. Jon pulled it closer to himself instinctively, and Martin slowly held his hands up as if placating an angry cat.

“Do you mind if I see it? I promise to give it back.”

Jon looked directly at him for the first time since their conversation started, and seemed softer than usual. Where he was normally made up of bristly angles and scathing remarks, Martin instead found soft and gentle, with a tinge of fear underneath it all. Martin was about to open his mouth to say that it was okay if he wasn’t comfortable handing it over after he sensed Jon’s hesitance, but he instead watched Jon clench both his fists into the worn fabric and then push it over the table. Martin was careful to avoid spilling either of their mugs as he picked it up, and marveled at how old and worn the thing is, clearly having lived a long life of being a cherished item. Not to mention how  _ heavy _ it was between the corduroy and flannel and overall bulk of it.

“This is pretty heavy! Is this why your office is always cold? And how do you stand to wear this thing?”

Jon immediately jutted his chin out at the perceived slight, closer to his usual demeanor. It really must have been something he loved.

“Yes, I keep my office at a lower temperature so I can wear it, and it’s a good weight. It makes me feel grounded, I suppose,” Jon said.

“Oh like a sensory thing! That makes sense.”

Martin immediately brightened up, feeling like he understood Jon a little bit better. He used to know some folks that had some sensory issues, and it helped explain some of the stranger aspects of Jon, like his dislike for being in large crowds despite living in  _ London  _ of all places. Martin ran his thumb over the edge of a cuff, feeling where the fabric had begun to tear after years of wear, and then over a hole in the sleeve where it looked like Jon put out a smoke in the fabric.

Jon, however, didn’t seem to follow. At least, that was what his expression seemed to be signalling.

“So Jon, I want you to know that you’re absolutely allowed to say no, but I’ve got this old weighted blanket that I got once on sale and wasn’t quite a fan of. It’s pretty heavy, like this, but a bit bigger, and I only ever really used it a couple of times. So, you know, if you’d like it, you’re free to have it,” Martin said all at once in a rush.

Maybe he was too tired to be making any sense, because Jon just blinked owlishly at him. But Martin was already in this deep, so he might as well finish.

“And, well, I know the blanket wouldn’t be a perfect stand in for your jacket, but it looks like it’s in desperate need of some repairs. I can’t fix everything, but I could, you know, hem the cuffs a little, patch a few of the holes, all that.”

Jon continued to stare at him, and Martin started to think that maybe his offer was a mistake. His cheeks started to flush again as he pushed the jacket back on the table and towards Jon, but he froze when Jon spoke.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. ”

“It really wouldn’t be a problem at all! If anything, I owe you for believing me and letting me stay in the Archives. It’s the least I could do to repay you.”

Once more, Jon stared at him, but this time it looked like he was searching for something. Martin returned his gaze, hopefully looking trustworthy. After a stretch of silence, Jon seemed to have found his answer.

“Okay,” he said, “But not until I have the, what did you call it, blanket weight? That.”

Martin practically beamed at this response, and pushed the jacket the rest of the way towards Jon.  
“It’s a deal! I think it’s in the stuff from my flat that Tim packed for me, but I’d really rather we both slept a few more hours before work tomorrow morning. I’ll have it to you by tomorrow night, yeah?”

Jon nodded, then picked up his jacket and now empty mug, which he placed carefully in the sink. He quickly exited, presumably to go sleep in his office, and Martin rested his forehead against the table and silently screamed to himself. Sure, he was going to be tired all of tomorrow, but this was most definitely worth it. He would never be able to forget Soft Jon™ in his beat up jacket and messy bun as long as he lived.


	3. It makes me feel close to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa thank you everyone for your love! This is my first big piece of creative writing in close to 3 years so it's been really nice throw it out into the world
> 
> This chapter has a little bonus Jon POV because it was just There in the back of my brain

Okay, so maybe he immediately went searching for the old blanket. But in his defence, between the nightmare and his run in with Jon there wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to be able to go back to sleep after the events of his night, and really, it was Jon who needed the sleep more. The man was going to work himself to death at the rate he was going, the least Martin could do was not add to it.

Not to say that he didn't find Jon's perpetual exhausting lovely in its own way. There was something about the way that exhausted Jon wasn't quite as strict about maintaining his stodgy old academic persona. There was one time that Tim bugged him about what appeared to be piercing holes all up and down his ears and Jon had actually willingly shown them all a picture of him in uni with an ear full of metal. It was just impossible to wrap his head around, yet- _Focus_ , Martin.

"Aha!" Martin announced to himself as his fingers felt the beads shifting under the fabric.

He had a pretty limited number of belongings with him in the Archives, so it had really only taken him a matter of minutes. He gave it a quick sniff, and yeah, it still smelled clean enough. Jon didn’t seem like the type to care either way based on the state of his office, but Martin would rather die than give someone a stale blanket. He quickly folded the blanket back up and set it on top of one of the filing cabinets near his cot, and laid down to idly play some phone games before his long day of work arrived.

The workday itself was nondescript, as much as the Archives could be nondescript. Martin tiredly followed up on potential leads that led nowhere, just like any other day. He put on the kettle and didn’t hear it whistling through the haze of his exhaustion, then finally zoned back into reality and jumped up to go take it off the heat. As he did so he caught Tim raising an eyebrow in Sasha’s direction, who simply responded with a shrug. He brought them both their usual teas, a green tea for Sasha and Tim’s sugary chai nightmare, and there was no further commentary until Jon, somehow looking even more exhausted than usual, stumbled out of his office to grab one of his usual granola bar lunches from the cabinet. He quickly returned to his office, and Martin couldn’t miss the shit-eating grin on Tim’s face.

The rest of the day slowly dragged on until Tim and Sasha were finally leaving the building, but not before Tim whispered a quick “good luck!” as he exited.

Martin wasn’t quite sure what Tim thought was happening, but he knew he didn’t want to ask. What he did instead was save the file he was working on, sign out of his computer, put on the kettle once more, and then return to the cramped storage closet he’d been calling home recently. He grabbed the blanket from where he’d left it early that morning and tucked it under his arm, then returned back to the kitchenette to prepare Jon another cup of earl grey. 

Armed with a blanket and a cup of tea, Martin prepared himself for whatever might happen when he entered the office. With his luck, Jon had probably changed his mind about the whole thing and would be mad at him for bringing it up again at all. But despite his fears, Martin knocked on the door. In fact, he felt brave enough to immediately nudge the door open with his elbow without waiting for Jon’s response.

It didn’t seem to matter, because it looked like Jon had been waiting for him anyways. His desk was uncharacteristically clear, with most of the papers that usually haphazardly covered the surface now being placed neatly in a box. 

Martin set down the cup of tea as his peace offering, then the blanket next to it.

“Um, I hope you like it? It’s okay if you don’t though, or if you don’t want to give up your jacket, I’d totally understand if you didn’t-”

As Martin spoke, Jon tentatively took the blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders like a shawl. Almost immediately, his eyes flicked up to where Martin was standing and babbling, and interrupted him before he’d managed to let his anxious train of thought get too far

“I-It’s heavy,” Jon said, then reconsidered when he saw Martin’s expression drop, “Perfectly heavy. Are you still sure about fixing it?” Jon asked.

“Of course! Of course. I’m pretty sure it’ll only take a day or two to get back to you, I’m sure you don’t want to be away from it for too long.”

Jon didn’t respond, but he took the jacket out from a larger drawer and set it on top of his desk. Sensing that Jon had used up all of his openness for the past 24 hours and would much rather be alone right now, Martin quickly picked up the jacket and began to leave with a smile.

“Ah, Martin,” Jon started.

He quickly spun around, trying not to melt all over again as he saw Jon looking much more relaxed than usual and wrapped up in the blanket. 

“Thank you.”

Martin’s smile only got wider as he gripped the jacket tightly and exited the office to go pull apart his sewing kit. 

It wasn’t an especially fancy kit, just enough to let Martin stretch his own clothing a little further before having to buy anything new, but it was enough to repair Jon’s jacket.

He located a warm brown thread and held it up against the jacket. It was a pretty good match. ‘The same colour as Jon’s eyes,’ the little voice in his head helpfully whispered. Martin chose to shelve whatever feelings he may or may not have for his boss, and pulled out a larger needle instead. It was muscle memory to cut a stretch of thread, thread the needle, and carefully knot it, and then he had to pick where to start. He ran his hands over the soft, worn in flannel lining as he contemplated the task ahead of him. The cuffs did look like they would need the most attention, so that’s where he started. 

He pulled a small pincushion out of his kit, folding and pinning the edge of the cuff inward. It was a bit difficult to push the needle through the thick fabric when it was folded over itself, but he managed well enough and quickly finished one sleeve. He knotted the thread where he finished, then did the same to the other sleeve. 

Next were the few burn holes in the jacket, small and round and singed. Martin used a much longer length of thread here as he carefully stitched back and forth over the hole, as if covering a particularly large patch on an embroidery project. This process also went relatively quickly, and then he looked over the jacket once more. The only spot that was left is the collar, where it looked almost as if Jon frequently bit down on the fabric. A smile took over Martin’s face as he imagined a frustrated Jon teething on the collar of his jacket while he puzzled over a particularly difficult statement, and he couldn’t pretend that it wasn't an endearing thought. However, he found himself unsure if Jon would prefer him to patch over it with thread like he did with the holes, or if he’d prefer to leave it be. 

Martin quickly decided to ask Jon at some point tomorrow, but that meant that any other work he could do is already done. It was getting late, and he was better off getting some sleep after the restless night he'd had prior. He set the jacket down on top of a filing cabinet, then started to lay down on his lumpy cot. He glanced up and locked his eyes on the jacket, then reconsidered. Jon would never know if he did anything with it that wasn’t strictly repair, right?

Before he could feel guilty about it, he quickly popped up to grab it once more, then laid back down with it in his grasp. He snuggled up against it as he closed his eyes, and slept dreamlessly for once.

/

Once the door softly shut behind Martin, Jon more closely examined the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders. It was a nondescript shade of grey, and appeared to be sewn into small diamond-shaped pockets to hold the beads that weighed it down. It made for a comforting weight around him, and he absentmindedly squished the beads in his hand. On a whim, he held a corner up to his nose and sniffed it.

He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but was still taken by surprise. It had a soft, floral scent, but was the perfect strength that kept it from being too overwhelming. He paused for a second to contemplate this, then decided to keep it pressed against his face. Was this whatever laundry detergent Martin uses? Did Martin himself smell like this?

Jon leaned back into his chair, deep in thought. Martin had said he’d only used the blanket a few times, and the beads didn’t seem conducive to going through the washer, which led him to believe this was just whatever had rubbed off from Martin.

He wasn’t sure what to think about that. And really, why should he care? He would most likely use the blanket for a few days until Martin returned his jacket, and then the blanket would probably end up sitting in a corner of his office unused after that. 

Jon pulled the mug of tea closer to himself for easy drinking and returned to staring at his computer, trying to make sense of Prentiss’ existence and what it meant for the Institute’s safety if there were other such beings out there. He pored over his copious notes for every statement, but he wasn’t any closer to figuring out what might be real and what definitely wasn’t. He turned to the internet to search for notable stories, but those didn’t get him any closer. Page after page of deaths in the news, people posting about strange experiences on forums, and in a fit of true desperation, videos from ghost hunters about the paranormal.

He pushed his glasses up on top of his head and tiredly rubbed his eyes. He wished, not for the first time, that he didn’t need to sleep so much. Even if he could still survive on just two or three hours a night, that's all he needed. There were never enough hours in the day, especially not now that his job was to reorganise decades’ worth of accumulated chaos and try to make sense of it all. 

The corner of his screen told him it was already past 1 A.M., and he knew that the commute home would only further waste his precious sleep time. So instead he put his computer in sleep mode and stood up, stretching out all of his too-tight muscles and aching joints. He spared a glance towards the cushions of the couch, which he had stored several blankets under, and then decided against grabbing them. After all, the blanket Martin gave him is plenty heavy enough to make up for the pile he usually slept under.

Jon flicked the lights off and pulled the blanket off of his shoulders, settling onto the couch. He set his phone alarm to wake him up at 6:30 A.M., then spread the blanket over himself. It pressed against him with a calming weight, and if he leaned his face into a corner of it then it definitely wasn’t to keep the scent close as he finally managed to drift off to sleep.


	4. We're the only ones who know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it folks, we made it! Realizations are made, tea is consumed, and the world keeps on spinning
> 
> On some final notes: 1.) I realized I never said that all of the titles so far have been from Fiona Apple's new album (love you queen), and 2.) thank you so much to the incredible [camcatwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/camcatwriter/pseuds/camcatwriter) for betaing this!! Thank you again for helping me wrangle all of the thoughts that come spilling out of my brain into a much more cohesive chapter overall

Martin had gotten much more sleep than he had the morning before, so for all intents and purposes he should be much more focused on his work this time around. 

So why the _fuck_ was he incapable of thinking about anything outside of Jon sitting in his office all carefully wrapped up in his blanket?

It was a constant thought, rerunning itself through his mind over and over again like the late night television he’d stare at for hours after his mother had gone to bed. Every time he heard a sound coming from the direction of Jon’s office, every time his fingers brushed over the soft fabric of his sweater, and Jesus, it felt like just about every time he blinked it would be there waiting for him behind his eyelids.

Before Martin even realised it, he’d abruptly pushed himself out from his desk and stood up. He wasn’t even sure why he did it, his body just must have had enough of him slouching over his computer and pining like some kind of moron. But oh, now Tim and Sasha were staring at him like he’d gone mad, and he really didn’t have an excuse for this, did he? Quickly, he scooped up the folder containing all of the cases he was tasked with following up on, and then rethinking the weather, set it down to put on his jacket first.

“Sorry guys! It looks like I’ll have to do some field research for this case, I think I might have a lead, not sure yet. I’ll see you both later, bye!” He stammered out.

He quickly snatched the folder back up and just about ran for the exit, trying his hardest to not think about what Tim and Sasha would say once he’d left. He also tried not to think about the fact that he’d left pretty early on in the work day without a single thing he actually had to follow up on in person, but failed that task almost immediately.

With a groan, Martin pulled out his phone and googled for a nearby cafe that wouldn’t cost him an arm and a leg, and decided to regroup there instead of in the weirdly menacing shadow that the Institute cast over him. 

The reality of everything finally set in once he was no longer on the move and was settled with a reasonably priced croissant and earl grey latte. The upstairs of the cafe seemed to be relatively secluded at this time of day, so he gave into the need to be dramatic and rested his forehead against the cold wood of the table. Deep breaths, Martin. He definitely wasn’t getting this flustered over his boss, who, might he remind himself, was a right prick and seemed to hate him in particular. At least, he’d seemed that way before recently. 

With a sigh, he sat up and propped his chin in his hands to tiredly stare at the statements all neatly arranged in front of him. Just like usual, he had no idea where to even begin following these up, and now he didn’t even have access to the databases. Then again, he barely knew how to use them in the first place. 

After skimming all the files, he decided to start with this case about the woman getting lost in a sea of almost-people. There wasn’t that much that he could look into further, but well, he’d never heard much about Genoa being some sort of hotbed for disappearances. Maybe it had just never been commented on before, or maybe Genoa wasn’t unique at all? 

He took a careful sip of his latte. It was… Actually really good, which was exactly why Martin loved little “hole in the wall” type cafes. With at least that to buoy his mood, he started to search for basic disappearance statistics among other popular European cities.

The cafe thankfully didn’t ask him to leave or to buy more at any point during the day, but he knew he’d eventually have to return to the Institute. One of the biggest drawbacks of working in such a weird place is that he was forced to return and face his workaholic boss (that makes him feel Things) because he couldn’t go home out of the paranoid fear that there might still be person-eating worms there. 

As he packs up all of his files and careful scribblings, he entertains a brief fantasy world where he worked at the cafe instead of having his life thoroughly tipped on its head. He even contemplated asking if they were hiring. But ultimately, something in him hesitated as he started to walk up to the front corner, so he instead wished them a good night and headed back.

He sent a brief prayer to whomever might have been listening as he walked back into the Archives, and then quickly remembered he wasn’t going to be that lucky. Sure enough, Tim and Sasha were still there and looked like they had approximately a million questions. He flashed them a quick smile and tried to slip by with a quick farewell, but Sasha reached out and grasped his wrist faster than he could pull away. Martin stared at her, then over at where Tim was standing aside, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Martin, are you doing alright? We just wanted to check because we know things have been hard after the whole attack, and well… You just seemed off this morning, I guess,” Sasha asked.

Martin lightly tugged his wrist away from her with an eye roll, and she acquiesced. His hand now felt awkwardly out of place and he wasn’t sure what to do with it, so he chose to cross his arms and hoped he was putting on his best impression of someone that was jokingly annoyed instead of someone that was lying to his friends for the second time that day.

“Jeez Sasha, I promise I’m fine. I just had a sudden realization that I might have been onto something, so I wanted to go check it out ASAP. You know how it is,” Martin replied with a wave of his hand.

“Riiiight.”

She glanced back towards where Tim was standing further from the door, and Martin couldn’t even hope to understand the seemingly complex conversation they were having with their faces. Each minute movement of an eyebrow seemed to carry so much implicit meaning in some sort of code he wasn’t privy to. Finally, Sasha nodded and grabbed her keys from her desk.

“Alright, have a good night Martin!” Tim yelled as he walked out of the office.

“Stay safe,” Sasha added.

With that, the door shut behind them and Martin was once more alone in the Archives with Jon.

He definitely wasn’t avoiding Jon.

Martin had been away from his computer all day, and he had a few emails he wanted to reply to with a proper keyboard, so he could avoid any unfortunate typos. And then at that point he figured he might as well type up all the notes he’d taken earlier, just so that they couldn’t get lost anywhere and let all his hard work go to waste. 

It just so happened that he’d taken to doing all this from the laptop he kept inside the tiny storage closet he called home, and had long since changed into sweats, and also had possibly watched some Youtube and let 4 hours pass. 

The jacket was still sitting on top of the filing cabinet where he’d quickly thrown it that morning. He’d felt guilty and flustered in equal measures when he woke up to it still clutched between his arms, and now it sat in the corner of his eye as a reminder that he still had to face his increasing weakness for his boss. His laptop closed shut with a soft click, and then Martin shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He would just go quickly in and out to return the jacket, nothing to encourage whatever new shenanigans his brain was creating.

In the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of Jon’s office with the jacket in hand. He pushed the door open before even thinking to knock, and Jon immediately looked up from his computer with a strange expression. Before the little gremlin in Martin’s brain that lived to see him suffer started trying to dissect that expression, Martin quickly dropped the jacket on the desk.

“Ah, should be all fixed, except for the collar because I wasn’t sure if you’d want some patching somewhere that obvious, and I figured it looks fine the way it is, adds character. Anyways! Did some research on Ms. Nunis’ case, the one in Genoa. It seemed odd that there wouldn’t be more discussion of missing travellers if this was something common, so I looked into it, and Genoa doesn’t seem to have missing traveller numbers much higher than any other cities. I’ll have it written up for you tomorrow, I just want to see if I can get one of the research guys to run some statistical testing so that we can-”

“Is the storage room cold?” Jon asked.

He seemed to rethink his initial phrasing, then clarified, “Thank you for your research update Martin. Is the storage room cold? It seems you always sleep in your sweaters, but I know you do own other items of clothing.”

Martin blanched at the question, unsure what to answer or why Jon would be concerned in the first place. He was Martin Blackwood for god's sake, he was the one who did sloppy research and accidentally revealed terrible information about their loved one’s death to those in grief and was overall not qualified for this job. Tim and Sasha were at least nice about it, but Jon was never afraid to tell Martin exactly what he thought. He certainly never thought about things like Martin’s wellbeing, and especially not by throwing out a question that Martin couldn’t truthfully answer yet.

It wasn’t like he thought Jon would be transphobic or anything; he was a bit of a prick sometimes, but not some sort of bigoted asshole. Martin just… He didn’t have the words prepared quite yet, didn’t have the right combination of jokes and seriousness to let everyone know that it was a very real part of him, but wasn’t that big of a deal. And he’d planned on coming out to Jon last out of all of the Archives staff, hoping that Sasha and Tim would give him further encouragement.

So for the third time that day, Martin told a lie.

“Oh, this? Haha it’s nothing really, they’re just rather comfortable and you know Tim really only packed me up a limited amount of clothes, guess I’ll have to call pest control to double check my flat soon so I can find more of my proper pyjamas. Anyways, I think I left the kettle on, have a good night Jon!” 

Martin tossed his excuses into the wind and immediately fled Jon’s office, hoping that it came off even slightly less awkward than it had felt in his mind. But he had at least kept his promise of going in and out quickly, and he was able to escape and bury himself in his cot before his emotional state could get any mushier.

He threw the blankets over his head and relished the darkness of it, where he didn’t have to acknowledge the cold hard facts of his life. Such as the fact that Jon was his grumpy boss that thought he was uselessly incompetent (and rightfully so). Or maybe the fact that said boss had absolutely no reason to even tolerate him, let alone feel positive emotions towards him. Or the fact that, despite that, this seemed to be the most head over heels in love he had been since secondary school.

Frustrated with his situation and his own foolishness, Martin reached up to flick off the lights and tried to fall asleep.

/

Jon watched, feeling more than a little confused, as Martin fled the room. He had never been great at social interactions and was even worse at reading people, but even he sensed that something about their exchange seemed off. He knew enough to know that the way he had been treating Martin was dissatisfactory to everyone on the Archives team, he wasn’t stupid. So he had resolved himself to try to be kinder to Martin and to try to work with him on becoming a better employee instead of disparaging him. Wasn’t inquiring to someone’s well-being a staple of being kind?

He stared intently at the door, as if it could give him some sort of answer as to why Martin had entered seeming more anxious than usual and exited in a rush to escape. Martin always seemed like the temperature of his office had been a little too cold for him, so it would follow that perhaps the storage rooms were also being kept slightly too cold, and there was a reasonable chance that Martin didn’t know how to operate the thermostats. So why was he so anxious before even entering Jon’s office, and why did the simple query seem to throw him so much? 

Frustrated with his own lack of answers, Jon resolved himself to stop worrying about it so much. Martin surely just had his own personal life going on, and his fretting would be much more useful aimed at his desk’s distinct lack of organization… Which left him to pick up his jacket, still sitting where Martin had hastily dropped it on his desk. 

He picked it up, examining it to find all of the places it had been altered. All of the fixes appeared to be sturdy and well-done, despite what Martin’s work for the Archives might have otherwise suggested. Just like he’d said, the cuffs were tucked inwards and hemmed to get rid of all the spots where it had been badly frayed, and there was now careful patching where there was once small holes interrupting the lines of the corduroy. Jon ran his thumbnail over one such spot, appreciating the satisfying texture as it scratched under his nail, and the fact that it ran in the same parallel lines as the underlying corduroy.

Feeling a pleasant glow in knowing that his jacket had taken a couple steps backwards from the dumpster it had been heading towards, Jon slipped it on and relished in the warm weight it carried. It helped to soothe away some of the stresses of his strange exchange with Martin, so he turned to face the mountains of papers that made up the rest of the desk. One stood out, with handwriting that wasn’t his own carefully looping across a bright green slip of paper. 

A closer look at the contents revealed that these appeared to be the same statistics that Martin had been babbling about earlier, with numbers spread across the paper detailing the population and visitors to Genoa, as well as comparisons to similar cities. As Jon read it over, he had a strange thought.

If he’d asked himself what he thought about Martin a few months ago when they had all first been transferred to the Archives, he would have said that he was an incompetent fool that didn’t deserve his position. But as he reflected on Martin’s past work in comparison to the analysis he was reading over, he had been making marked improvements over such a short period of time. Tim and Sasha (but Sasha especially) were both extremely competent and knew exactly what to do in order to get the information they needed, but Jon felt as though he was watching Martin grow into the job with each passing week.

Something about that fact made Jon feel an uncomfortable warmth curl up in his chest and bubble up into his face. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be a teacher or a mentor, and to watch someone grow. He briefly thought about asking Elias about the feeling but quickly decided against it. He was thankful to Elias for his promotion, but that didn’t keep him from being slightly distressing to be around. Instead, he taped the slip of paper to his monitor so that he could cross-reference the numbers in the morning, and set about to straighten up the piles of paper he called a desk.


	5. I'm your crowbar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again!! so i know i said this was a 4 chapter fic that was finished, but then my brain threw more at me so now were back and with more gay shit, this time focused on jon's pov as he realizes he caught a bad case of the feelings
> 
> a special shoutout to [camcatwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/camcatwriter/pseuds/camcatwriter) for being an incredible beta despite me busting in like over a month later with new chapters, and just generally herding my frantic sleep deprived keysmashes into something coherently wonderful!
> 
> (chapter title is from "i know" by fiona apple)

After his past few nights with Martin, Jon was starting to understand that he could still be the Head Archivist while also being friendly with his assistants, but he hadn’t expected to be roped in so quickly. It had started off inconspicuously enough, with him actually eating his lunch for once. Nothing that out of the ordinary, just a simple chicken curry he’d made the night before, but the smell of it wafting from the microwave seemed to create questions, and everyone had seemed impressed to discover that Jon could actually cook.

As mildly insulting as their shock was, Sasha had been quick to suggest an informal Archives potluck that Thursday, and Jon couldn’t find a reason to say no. So Wednesday he left work a little earlier than he usually did (but still much later than he was officially scheduled to leave) and went to Tesco to buy ingredients for masoor dal.

He was nervous as he walked into the Archives Thursday morning holding his dishes. Sure, they’d all seemed interested a few days ago, but they likely hadn't ever had food outside of the standard Anglo-Indian fare, so would they like Bangladeshi food? There was always the off-chance that they just didn’t like Jon’s cooking in general.

Jon had made sure he arrived even earlier than usual, both to make up for leaving early the day before as well as to avoid seeing anyone before locking himself in his office to keep his anxiety out of sight. His dishes were left in the fridge until later, and Jon tried his hardest to ignore the anxiety and focus on his work.

Eventually though, it was a little after noon and Martin was knocking on his door before slowly opening it.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something! Just, Tim keeps insisting he’s really hungry and wants lunch right now, so I figured we should come get you before he just starts eating…” Martin trailed off, before continuing, “Unless you’re not hungry yet! I’m sure Tim could wait.”

Jon glanced down to the multitude of statements spread out in front of him, then back up at Martin. He hadn’t made any progress in at least an hour, so was there really any point in postponing the inevitable? He put his computer to sleep, then stood up and took a moment to stretch out his aching back.

“No need to wait, now’s fine.”

It would have been hard for Jon to miss the wide grin that crossed Martin’s face immediately after Jon agreed to come out of his office, but it was gone in an instant as Martin quickly turned away and headed towards the kitchenette. 

Jon slowly trailed after him, only to find Sasha already setting up everyone’s dishes on their extremely small shared counter space.

“So Martin made Korean-style short ribs in a slow cooker here all night, I made some shepherd's pie, Tim convinced his roommate to help him make _normal_ brownies, and Jon, you made…?” Sasha listed off, before finishing off by setting Jon’s dishes on the counter and taking the tin foil off.

“It’s, uh, spicy red lentils. The other dish is rice to go with it. Nothing especially fanciful.”

“Oh, cool! Is there a name for it?” Martin asked.

“...Masoor dal,” Jon replied, his words half swallowed before they even came out.

“Cool! Mine is called kalbi,” Martin said.

“But okay so Jon, hear me out, what if I made special brownies instead of normal brownies? Martin and Sasha are both no fun,” Tim said.

Jon paused for a moment to stare at Tim, trying to break down the words that had just been flung at him. Was Tim making a joke, or was he honestly asking Jon, his boss, if he should have made weed brownies for a work lunch? 

“Well, I don’t know if that’s exactly the best idea for a workplace,” Jon said mildly.

“Actually, I heard a rumor that Elias used to be a huge stoner back in the day,” Sasha added.

Jon turned to look at her, where she was placing a plate of masoor dal and rice and Martin’s short ribs in the microwave. She was smiling, but it seemed more like the smile of someone in the know than someone that was flat-out lying. He had never been great at reading people though, so he shrugged and poked at the shepherd’s pie to try to figure out what was inside.

“There’s no pork, if that’s what you were looking for, and everything should be halal,” Sasha said offhandedly.

The microwave went off, and she turned back towards it to retrieve her plate. She took a brownie with her as she returned to her desk, and then Tim took his turn with the microwave without much more fanfare. That left Martin and Jon alone in the kitchenette, in some sort of awkward standoff. Martin thankfully interrupted the silence by gesturing towards Jon’s dishes with a shy smile.

“So… Do you like to cook?”

“Um, sometimes? Sorry, I mean I do like to cook, I just… Never have the time anymore,” Jon managed to stammer out. 

That was one of the last things Jon had expected to be asked about, and it felt like he couldn’t quite emulate the careful intonation he’d learned from his peers when he was younger. But Martin still seemed to accept the answer as being natural, and nodded in response.

“Cool! I never quite perfected cooking outside of a few dishes, but I’ve always wanted to learn more,” Martin responded.

Jon managed to shakily nod his head, but he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. His grandmother had always insisted that he learn to cook, because it was (supposedly) the best way to ground himself. He didn’t fully understand her life lesson, but cooking was one of his few practical skills so he couldn’t really complain.

After Jon’s lack of a real response, there were a few awkward moments of silence before Martin focused on the food instead, and silently loaded up his plate in the microwave. Martin was heading back to his desk soon enough, and that left Jon as the last to heat up his food. He made sure to take a small amount of every dish so that he could savor everyone’s cooking.

It was only when he was sitting back at his own desk that he realized that he’d never actually talked about any sort of religious upbringing with anyone at the Institute, but they had all somehow managed to coordinate well enough to make sure that everything would be okay. Jon stared down at his plate and tried to remember the last time any group of people had cared enough to do that for him, and was hard-pressed to think of anything.

His food had already started to get cold by the time he’d started eating properly, but he couldn’t deny that it was all still fantastic food.

* * *

The next time he got roped into a group activity with the rest of the Archives was after a smoke alarm had gone off, and would not stop going off even after the fire department had arrived and said that there was no fire. Elias had sent all of the Institute employees home early with pay while somebody came to fix the alarm system, which left Jon physically unable to do any more work for the day. 

The Archives staff had just exited the building after braving the shrill screech of the alarm long enough to gather their belongings, and were standing in front of the entrance and uncertain what to do with their newfound freedom for the day.

“Hey, does anyone want to visit the Furniture Cave? Figured we could all stand to look at some non-haunted old objects for once,” Tim joked.

Jon’s nose scrunched in distaste at the thought. He would much rather spend the rest of his day attempting to continue his research at home the best he could, and what was the point of traipsing through an antique store? When he looked at the other assistants, it was obvious by Martin’s beaming face that he was thrilled with the idea (although it was most likely in part due to the fact that the Archives had in fact been his home recently), while Sasha’s expression seemed more than a little wary. 

“Think of it this way: If we find an artefact, it’ll make Jon happy because it’ll shed some light on some of those horrible statements, and if we don’t find any artefacts it’ll make Sasha happy that she doesn’t have to interact with any artefacts ever again. So… Yes?”

Admittedly, Jon had always had a fondness for older things, and Sasha seemed won over by Tim’s charm, so they both nodded in agreement with Tim and off they went.

Despite Sasha’s initial worries, the building itself seemed shockingly mundane. Tim led them in through the door and immediately gravitated towards a gorgeous rustic dresser, which Jon tentatively opened the nondescript drawers of before they moved on. 

As they were all drifting off towards a large display of various chandeliers and crystalware, Jon noticed that Martin had paused a few meters back and was staring at an ornate bracket clock. Jon hesitated, about to call out to Martin to let him know that the group was moving on ahead, but Martin turned to catch up before Jon could say a word. His face seemed to flush upon realizing that Jon had noticed his distraction, and Jon ducked his eyes and tried his hardest to convince his brain to ignore whatever Martin was writing in the notes app on his phone.

“Hey Sasha, this doll here looks just like you,” Tim called from a little ways away.

Sasha pivoted away from the painting she’d been examining and they all cautiously approached Tim, silently praying that they wouldn’t be forced to deal with some sort of weird supernatural doll. Once they’d all reached the doll though, they realized that it was in fact just a random doll that looked absolutely nothing like Sasha, with long straight hair and brown eyes where Sasha had short curly hair and bright green eyes.

“Tim, you’re not funny!” Martin exclaimed as he swatted lightly at Tim’s arm in disapproval, but Tim chuckled and threw his hands up in a mock apology. 

“Really Tim, there’s no need to create undue stress,” Jon added.

Tim leaned backwards into Sasha and dramatically clutched his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded.

“Jon? Agreeing with Martin? Why, I never.”

Tim was quickly forced to break character after Sasha shoving him off of her, causing him to start laughing, but all Jon could focus on was the way that Martin stayed silent while his gaze flitted to Jon and then quickly went down to the floor, which was where Martin’s eyes stayed. Jon just raised his shoulders in a quick shrug to brush off Tim’s dramatics and Martin’s odd response, and then just like that, they had all moved on and were looking at larger furniture pieces.

Tim eventually had to leave to run other errands though, and the group quickly dissipated soon after. It was only once Jon had returned home that he realized that he actually kind of enjoyed the outing, even if he wasn’t the best at actually showing said enjoyment.

* * *

The next time they all spent time together was after Martin made a joke about slipping Tim iocane powder in his tea, leaving Jon more than a little confused. Martin insisted that they all absolutely had to watch The Princess Bride as a result, and Jon found it hard to say no in the face of Martin’s pure enthusiasm. (But mostly because he felt that there was always the chance he’d better understand statements if he was more in tune with pop culture.) So about a week later, he found himself forced to pack up all of his work much earlier than he normally would and head out to the main Archives room, where Sasha was helping Tim set up his projector while Martin was microwaving popcorn for them all to share.

Jon flitted around anxiously, pushing crates of statements towards the edges of the room in order to make space for the pile of blankets Sasha had thrown on the ground in between their desks as a shared space for all of them to spread out. Laying in a shared space with the others made Jon ever so slightly agoraphobic, so he wrapped his jacket tight around himself. The anxiety of being judged for the ratty old jacket was present as well, but he knew rationally that everyone in the Archives had long since accepted him for his oddities, and his jacket was comforting in a way that nothing else truly was. 

"Jon, the statements are fine. Go sit down before you give yourself a stroke," Sasha said.

"I'm not even close to being old enough for strokes!" Jon protested.

Jon fiddled with the tall stack of unorganized papers, watching as Tim and Sasha appeared to actually be doing something with the small projector and the seemingly endless number of wires that went with it.

"You can have a stroke at any age Jon, and those grey hairs aren't doing a great job of convincing me," Tim added on.

Jon sat down among the blankets with a huff, and silently waited. It only took them a few more minutes to get the movie up and projected onto the wall, and then Sasha called out to Martin, who came running in from the kitchenette with a huge bowl of popcorn and some Maltesers. They were all pressed close in the dark among the blankets, and Martin glanced over at Jon while the intro played, before quickly doing a double take. But before Jon knew it, the moment had passed and Martin’s eyes were locked firmly on the movie.

Princess Buttercup’s story was fascinating, and Jon couldn’t help but focus on the subtle ways that Westley showed his love for her without ever saying the word “love,” and the way that Princess Buttercup eventually realized that she loved Westley in return. The movie was wonderful so far, but Jon found himself craving the chocolate that he knew he’d seen earlier. He looked around the darkened room, and found the box of Maltesers in Martin’s hands. Jon reached out and softly poked Martin, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible to avoid ruining the movie-watching experience.

“Martin, can I have some of the Maltesers?” Jon whispered.

Martin’s eyes went wide at the distraction, and his face seemed to flush. It was hard to tell in the dark though, so Jon took it as a side effect of the projected movie and took the box that Martin had silently offered up. As soon as Jon had taken the box, Martin’s eyes were back on the movie as if he had never been interrupted.

Jon, however, was unable to focus on the movie again. Why had Martin seemed so reserved towards Jon all night, when it was his idea to have a movie night to begin with? Then again, he did love this movie, so maybe he just didn’t want to miss a second of it. Jon was missing the start of the big conflict as Westley is assumed to be dead, but he couldn’t focus at all, and it only got worse when he looked over and saw that Sasha and Tim were doing that strange thing where they communicated through facial expressions alone, but with a few light hits to each other’s shoulders this time. Jon slumped down further into the blankets and enveloped himself in his jacket, resigning himself to eating his Maltesers and reading the plot summary online later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [thinks about the relationship between dolls and mannequins] [thinks about subconscious memory] [cries a little bit bc sasha deserved better]
> 
> aaaand as always, if you enjoyed feel free to scream at me in the comments or on tumblr @haltsunemiku !!


	6. I'm an Extraordinary Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [shows up 3 weeks late with starbucks]
> 
> i am actually very sorry for the delay! work has been kicking my butt, and that in combination with me simultaneously juggling a full time job, apartment/car/furniture hunting, getting my credit card info stolen, and trying to get my wisdom teeth out has been an adventure and a half. but now i am hopefully done with dumb adult bullshit and can get back to writing!!!! so enjoy some pathetic pining jon time
> 
> (title from Extraordinary Machine by Fiona Apple)
> 
> I FORGOT TO PUT THIS IN WHEN I FIRST PUBLISHED BUT TY TO CAMCATWRITER FOR BETAING THIS AND MAKING THIS ALL COMPREHENSIBLE BC CLEARLY I NEED SOMEONE TO FOLLOW AFTER ME AND MAKE SURE I GET EVERYTHING

At face value, the next morning wasn’t at all unusual in comparison to any other morning. Martin was obviously already present in the Archives when Jon arrived early in the morning, and was crashing around in the kitchenette as he made his morning tea and heated up a sad looking breakfast sandwich in the microwave. He didn’t seem to notice Jon as he passed by, but it wouldn’t be the first time that Martin was still half-asleep and unaware of his surroundings when Jon came into work. What _was_ unusual was that after more than an hour and both Tim and Sasha having stopped into his office to let him know they’d arrived, Martin had still yet to drop by his office with his usual round of morning tea, let alone stopped by to let him know he was now working. 

Feeling slightly troubled by this, Jon set aside his work for a moment and popped out of his office to look out into the larger Archives. All three of his assistants, including Martin, appeared to be hard at work. Martin was under no obligation to come see Jon or make him tea, and if he didn’t want to do either of those things it was _fine_ , Jon reminded himself, but that didn’t keep Jon from feeling perturbed by the subtle change. 

Jon returned to his office and closed his door with a soft click before anyone had noticed him. He barely even noticed his own movements as he sat back in his chair, and it took him a few minutes to realize that his monitor was still dark. It instantly brightened with a shake of his mouse, and then he was back to work. Supposedly.

Okay, so he was thrown a little bit off-kilter by his strange morning. But he’d never liked disruptions to his routines, and as frustrating as Martin’s interruptions _had_ been, he had gotten used to them, and the absence was now jarring. But Martin was an adult and was allowed to make his own decisions, and it wasn’t exactly in his job description to make Jon tea.

Regardless of Martin’s free will though, Jon was really craving some morning tea by now. He got up and quickly made his way across the Archives to the kitchenette, where he nearly ran into Martin headfirst as the man finished up making his own tea.

“Oh, hi Jon. I think there should be some, uh, hot water left in the kettle?” Martin said, though a pitch that went higher with every word, as if questioning the presence of the water.

Martin quickly slipped behind Jon and back into the main Archives after that, apparently eager to escape. Jon mutely made his tea and returned to his office while trying his hardest to keep his brain turned off. Once the door was shut between him and his assistants though, all bets were off. 

So maybe something _was_ actually up. No, something was definitely up, but whose fault was it? Jon hadn’t thought he’d done anything wrong to Martin recently- No, if anything, he’d been much nicer to Martin than he had been previously. Or was that it, was Martin just now realizing how rude Jon had been before? And really, Jon deserved whatever treatment Martin saw fit, but… That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Jon sighed and crumpled against the back of his stiff, too-old office chair. He didn’t actually know if there was a problem at all, let alone what it might be. And oddly enough, Jon actually cared about fixing it. He so rarely cared this deeply about fixing a relationship with anyone, which unfortunately meant he had absolutely no idea how to go about it.

Tim was always so good at naturally forming relationships with everyone around him, and so Jon found himself pulling up Tim’s contact through their work messaging system before even coming up with a proper message. He typed up several fragmented messages, deleting them each time when they didn’t quite work. 

“I think Martin hates me now.” Too direct.

“How do I approach someone that I seem to have upset?” Too vague.

“Did I do something to upset Martin?” Too open-ended, especially considering Jon’s track record.

He closed out of Tim’s contact, then stared intently at the few contacts he had within the Institute. He really shouldn’t be soliciting personal advice from his assistants, but at the same time, the thought of raising the question with Elias was laughable.

Jon’s cursor hovered over Sasha’s name, and he paused. He probably shouldn’t be asking _any_ of his assistants for advice, but Sasha had always been personable and furthermore, less (obviously) judgemental than Tim. On a whim, Jon typed out a message and hit send before he could let himself think about it any more.

**JSims:** I’m very sorry to bother you Sasha, but did I do anything to upset Martin recently?

 **SJames:** Not sure I follow

 **JSims:** He seems… Upset.

The three dots had popped up to indicate that Sasha had been typing, but then they disappeared just as quickly. In that instant, Jon was convinced that he’d made a huge mistake, but Sasha’s message popped up before he could begin his apologies.

**SJames:** I’m afraid I’m not sure exactly what you’re talking about, but well

 **SJames:** I suppose it couldn’t hurt to be a little nicer? 

**JSims:** Thank you Sasha, I appreciate your guidance

Jon quickly closed out of the messenger before her words could continue to stare back at him. Just as he’d expected, his churlish demeanor had once again gotten the best of him. So Jon did what he knew best, which was to plan.

It was rapidly approaching 1 o’clock, which meant Martin would be making his afternoon tea. At 12:45, Jon snuck into the kitchenette while everyone else was hard at work, and started the kettle boiling. By the time Martin entered at a little after 1, Jon was just finishing up his own tea, as well as Martin’s. A perfect black tea, with two sugars and just a dash of creamer, which he pressed into Martin’s hands as soon as he entered.

“I figured, you know, I might as well repay the favor for once,” Jon said, and then tried out a small smile. It felt awkward and lopsided, but it would hopefully suffice.

Martin appeared taken aback, and simply blinked at Jon before looking down at the mug in his hands.

“This is… For me?”

“I’m sorry if I made it wrong, it’s just- I figured- I was pretty sure that’s how you took your tea, and I was already in here.”

There were a few more moments of awkward silence between them both as Martin took a sip, then started to quietly chuckle to himself.

“Uh. Thank you, Jon. This is how I take my tea. I appreciate it,” He said as he slowly inched towards the door, and Jon let him escape once more.

His words seemed to indicate that Jon had made his tea exactly the way he liked it, so why did he obviously want to leave?

Jon couldn’t think of any reasonable answer to the obvious disconnect between Martin’s words and his body language, so Jon took his tea with him to his office and spent the next few hours trying (and failing) to focus on the smattering of cases he had strewn across his desk. Trying to accomplish anything felt like an uphill battle though, because for every little cross-referenced detail he found proof for, he could have sworn he’d had at least 4 or 5 thoughts about how to make up with Martin. 

After Jon had heard Tim and Sasha leave for the day, he popped his head out of his office door and spotted Martin, still sitting at his desk scribbling away on some old legal pad.

“Hey, Martin? I was going to order some pad thai, did you want any?”

Martin looked up at Jon as if he’d been startled, and Jon couldn’t help but think about how many nights he’d spent silently secluding himself in his office while Martin had been living in the Archives. Of course the man would be startled, Jon literally never talked to him.

“I’m good, I was going to heat up that uh, that soup I still had in the fridge.”

Jon tried his hardest not to visibly deflate where he stood. He’d spent months being rude to Martin, of course a single day wasn’t going to make them best friends. Wait, was that what Jon wanted? He’d never had any interest in something as childish as a best friend.

“Okay! Just figured I would offer, just- let me know if you change your mind,” Jon offered up a beat too late after being caught up in his own thoughts about friendship.

He quickly retreated to his office before Martin could reply, and spent the next 20 minutes alternating between anxiously braiding his hair into a neat plait and then immediately combing it out, only to once more begin the process anew. 

It was fine if his assistant didn’t want to be more than coworkers, especially after Jon had spent months insisting on just that. But at the same time, Jon’s chest hadn’t ached with rejection like this in some time. And Martin hadn’t even rejected him outright! He’d just delineated his boundaries with Jon, and those boundaries were professionally friendly. 

If Martin had noticed Jon fleeing for the back entrance with his huge jacket hanging off of only one arm, he didn’t mention it the next morning when Jon came in. Nor did he say much of anything to Jon outside of a bland “good morning.” 

At this point, Jon felt as if he might actually be going mad. In what world was he the one that was upset because _Martin_ wasn’t talking to him more? 

Jon kept himself locked in his office with the blinds drawn all day, subsisting solely off of the meal replacement shakes and protein bars that Georgie had always insisted he keep with him. He eventually managed to get back into the rhythm of researching and recording statements, only occasionally stumbling across ones that wouldn’t record to his computer. But eventually, it was a little after 7, and he could finally hear the sound of Martin giving up and returning to the storage room he’d been sleeping in. Jon carefully watched for any sign of Martin leaving the storage room for the next half hour, while every dragged on laboriously, but eventually the coast seemed to be clear.

He exited his office, moving quietly as to prevent Martin from potentially hearing him. Jon dimmed the lights (but didn’t turn them off, he knew Martin disliked the office being plunged into pitch darkness while he was staying here) and crept towards Martin’s desk.

It was hard for him to say that he was proud of his plan, but he had to know if there was any concrete proof of Martin’s newfound coldness towards Jon. So he immediately reached towards the legal pad that Martin would often scribble into, and flipped to a random page. It appeared to be dated a few weeks ago, and was broken up into tiny line segments. Despite his intentions on maintaining silence, Jon couldn’t help but whisper along as he read.

“ _Pitch dark ribbon_

_Swirled with the ashes of the fire_

_In my chest  
  
_

_‘Does it hurt?’_

_They ask_

When they see the fire  
  


_It doesn’t hurt_

_It could never hurt_

_As long as I have you”_

Jon had never been particularly into poetry and it had been a long time since he had last been forced to analyze it in school, but from what he recalled, that was stunningly mediocre. There was nothing especially complex about it besides some vague, ham-fisted metaphor, and some feeble emotions being poured into the writing, but it was, as a whole, nothing special, and didn’t seem to give Jon any more information about what was going on. Nonetheless, Jon couldn’t stop the strangely warm thrumming feeling that felt like it was coursing through his bones.

He closed the legal pad and set it carefully back on Martin’s desk where he’d found it, and resolved himself to go to Martin’s “room” that night to resolve whatever was going on before it drove him mad.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm forcing myself to be brave! You can find me on tumblr @haltsunemiku if you'd like to come scream with me about anything and everything TMA related


End file.
